


Everybody Needs Somebody Sometime

by eighth_chiharu



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M, Fever, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Illness, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-17
Updated: 2015-06-17
Packaged: 2018-04-04 21:51:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4154271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eighth_chiharu/pseuds/eighth_chiharu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alpha Dave is on location when he over works himself and falls ill. Luckily, Rose is never one to neglect those she cares for. Shippy if you squint.  ; )</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everybody Needs Somebody Sometime

Barely awake, Dave pulls a pillow over his face so he doesn't have to look out the rain-streaked hotel window. He's on location outside of Portland, but he's beginning to think maybe, just this once, he made a mistake. The forest is one of the most depressing natural first-world place he's ever been, and that includes Death Valley. Yeah, of course they came here for the mist and the rain, him and his crew, and that's what they're getting. It fits the scene they're filming perfectly. He ought to be happy as a pig in shit, but there's a side-effect to the constant wet and chill that he hadn't factored into his carefully laid plans: it's bad for sleep-deprived workaholics.

When he woke up yesterday with a sore throat and a headache, he popped some aspirin and shoved the pain aside. It wasn't that big a deal, and besides, he had a shoot to finish. They'd already been here a week, and location filming cost an arm and a leg. He didn't have time to waste being a baby. The whole crew put in a fifteen-hour day and got a lot done. If it hadn't been for the pounding right behind his eyes and the kink in his neck, Dave would've called the day a fucking success. As it was, he gave everyone permission to start an hour later the next morning, stumbled to his hotel room to crash out around midnight and slept like the dead.

It didn't go him any good, apparently.

His cell phone rings, shrilling into the air, and Dave groans into the pillow. His throat flares into hot, stinging life at the sound, and the hurt that had been only in his neck yesterday spreads out in hungry, tight fingers, making the rest of him ache. He tries to swallow the agony away, but it's like swallowing fishooks. Firey ones. Firey devil hooks.

"Go away," he mumbles into the pillow, choking on the word with a cough, but the phone doesn't. The ring continues, and Dave reaches out a hand to slap it off the bed when he finally recognizes the chorus of "Witchy Woman".

It's Rose.

That makes him both want to answer it and not. If he does, he'll have to put on the act of his life. He can't be sick in front of Rose. It's just not done. He's too cool for that. Moreover, he doesn't have any desire to pretend to be fine while she tells him important shit he's just going to forget because he feels like crap. But if he doesn't answer, she'll do some magical scrying juju on him or something, find out anyhow and yell at him for letting himself get run down.

Remembering not to groan again just in time, he chooses what seems to be the easiest path. He picks up the phone and pulls it under the pillow with him answering it as shortly as possible. Even pressing the stupid phone buttons hurts. "Yeah?"

" 'Yeah'? No 'hello Rose' or 'my darling, how I've longed for your turgid embrace'?"

English becomes a failed second language, taking Dave a full three seconds to figure out what Rose just said. Once he manages to think past the throbbing headache, he sags back against the bed. This requires an actual response, which Dave doesn't want to give. She's gonna know, or worse, she'll know and ignore it. He can't decide which he'd hate more. God, his throat hurts so fucking much. "Nope, busy."

There's a pause, almost imperceptible, and the teasing tone Rose had affected disappears. "Where are you, Dave?"

She's too good at getting him to talk. He forgets how good she is. "Oregon."

"Work?"

"Yeah. Work." It comes out too breathy, too sullen, and Dave struggles to regain control. What the hell is wrong with him? Yeah, okay, it hurts, but seriously, this is pathetic.

"Dave, tell me where you are. The address. Now."

"Use your magic," he says, and laughs in a rusty voice. That hurts even more, and the gasp that escapes is sharp and makes him cough. He can feel Rose's disapproval coming off the phone in waves. 

"It's too early for you to be on-set, otherwise I wouldn't have called. Stay in your room. I'll be right there."

She hangs up before he can argue, and he's left with a silent phone and a body that won't listen to him. Be right here? How does she plan to do that? Broomstick? He chuckles in a kind of desperate way. She's wrong, he can't stay here. He has work, or at least a shower, to get to. Everyone is counting on him. He can't just lay here, fucking around.

His eyes hurt, so he shuts them, and when he opens them again, it's because Rose is lifting the pillow off of his face. He squints in the gloomy daylight, tired and sure he's dreaming. "Took you long enough," he says, and winces at how bad he sounds.

"When I said 'stay here', I didn't mean it literally," she tsks quietly. She puts the pillow to the side and brushes Dave's bangs off of his face. Her hand is soft and deliciously cool. 

Jesus. She's real. "You're... here?" It seems incredible. Dave tries to rouse himself more, wants to touch her. "But you live in New York."

"I'm visiting James. It was just luck. Oh, Dave." She takes a seat on the bed and cups his left cheek, then lays the back of her hand against the other one. "I thought you'd at least have the sense to eat and take something for your fever. You're burning up."

"Fever?" He repeats her before his brain can catch up. Oh. Right. That would explain a lot. His mind tries to tell him something about James, but he feels too worn out to listen. "Nah, 'm just that hot."

She snorts. "Mm-hm, incredibly sexy. Nothing a gal likes more than a man about to drop dead of the flu."

"Maybe it's just a cold."

"With your temperature? I don't think so."

"If it's that bad, does that make me sexier?"

Rose flutters her eyelashes, hand on her breast, the other fanning her face. "Oh yes, indeed, terribly so. Take me now Mr Strider, please~"

Dave smiles faintly. "I would, but I only booked the room for one."

"You're an idiot." She drops the pretence, takes his hand and squeezes it. "You know I have to stay here now. Pay that extra room fee so I can keep an eye on you, since you can't be trusted to do it yourself."

"That's sweet of you. Creepy, but sweet. But I have to work." He finally pushes himself up, forcing stiff muscles to work, but the room spins and turns grey. A sick feeling sloshes against his ears, his throat closing up, and he stops, breathless. "I'm gonna puke."

"No, you won't. Just lay back. You're dizzy." She pushes at him, and he lets her nudge him back against the mattress. "There we go. Now..." She reaches into her bag and pulls out a thermos. When the lid comes off, a sweet, minty smell wafts out.

Dave's stomach turns. "No potions, lady, please. I can't."

Rose takes a little plastic cup off the side table and pours some of what looks like tea into it. "You can't? Where's the famous Strider willpower? I thought you could do anything."

"I'm gonna re-enact that scene from the Exorcist if you force that shit on me."

That earns him a cool stare. "You're acting like a toddler. Drink this, hold it down for ten minutes, and you'll feel a lot better. Now do I have to help you hold the cup?"

Stung, Dave makes a face. "No, Mom, I got it." He pushes onto his elbows, just enough to take the cup without spilling it, wary of sitting up all the way. He shoots the concoction in one quick gulp, then locks his jaw and thrusts the cup out to Rose.

"So dramatic. Don't dirty the bedclothes. I'll be right back." She stands and moves off to the bathroom, taking her things with her.

Dave lays back and concentrates on breathing shallowly and not letting the tea come right back out the way it went in. He listens to his stomach gurgle ominously, listens to Rose as she runs water, does something with the closet and flips on the television. Daytime talk shows. Is there any greater punishment for the sick? It's just as he's about to lose the battle that he suddenly goes limp, the knot in his stomach unraveling and disappearing into nothingness. He exhales at how loose he feels, blinking, and looks up at Rose as she draws near to peer down at him.

"Better?"

Slowly, he nods. His stomach is settled, and while the rest of him still aches as though he's just run ten marathons, it's somehow not as distracting. He swallows experimentally, and sighs at the lack of stinging. "Holy shit. What was that, and can I be in charge of selling it for you?"

"Mint, chamomile, feverfew and something else, I forget. I'll look it up if you really want to know."

"Think I'm better off not knowing. Bat wings and lizard tails aren't my thing."

"Hmm. Might not be for the average consumer, either." She sits again, kicks off her shoes and scoots up against the headboard of the bed. She arranges the other pillows there to her satisfaction, then leans back and scoops up the remote control. "I put your phone on the nightstand. I've already told your staff you're under the weather today."

"They're just gonna sit around? That's a waste," Dave protests, his tongue clumsy. What the hell was in that tea...?

"No, they're doing the hiking scene. I figured it was the easiest to do, and to re-do, if need be. Now rest." Her thigh is close to his head. She threads fingers through his hair, stroking his scalp rhythmically, somehow soothing all the sore points. "After a nap, I'll get you lunch. You need to eat to get well."

"Wait. Your visit. Can't bail..."

"All taken care of. You need me now, and that's what matters. Someone has to watch out for you, Dave Strider."

Oh, Dave thinks, flattered. Someone wants to take care of him. Someone wants him to feel better, instead of the other way round. He makes a noise, intending to tell Rose that he's grateful, but the tea finishes its work. He falls asleep with Rose's hand on his head, Tyra Banks on the television, and the rare, comforting knowledge that for now, he's safe.


End file.
